


Feast of Fools

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (not his blood it's fine), Bad Decisions, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Bottom Lucio (The Arcana), Creative License, Dubcon Kissing, Easily frightened goatman, Extremely Dubious Consent, Intrusive thoughts about mortality, Lucio (The Arcana) Is A Little Shit, Lucio is a thot, M/M, Magic Cock, Plague Lucio (The Arcana), Potential Spoilers, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Roughness, Sex Magic, Size Difference, Soul Sex, The Devil only lets you get away with this because you're pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: Black claws closed around his throat, and he felt his heart stutter again.And then they shifted to cup his cheek instead, oddly gentle, somehow more frightening than the chokehold. He knew better than to struggle, allowing the Devil to bring his face closer to peer at it, as if looking for something. He hardly dared to breathe.“You and I both know you’ll die before the year is out,” The Arcana rumbled, sharp teeth bared in a grin that more closely resembled a snarl. “But perhaps you need a reminder of what, exactly, you’d be losing.”
Relationships: The Devil/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Feast of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> references Big Plot stuff, very clumsily because I haven't played the game, but beware anyway

There was laughter echoing through the halls. Laughter and distant music. 

Lucio startled awake, clawing his way out of his bedsheets like a trapped animal before his brain had finished registering the sound. The Masquerade--!

_ The Ritual--! _

He pushed himself out of the bed, stumbled and staggered a few paces, managed to catch himself on a nearby chest of drawers before his lungs and legs gave out in a hideous coughing fit, forcibly reminding him of his limitations. 

Only silence greeted him when he’d recovered, deafening, no sign of music or laughter - he wasn’t sure now that it hadn’t been the remainder of a dream he’d forgotten. It was dark and timeless in this room, and there was no telling how long he’d been submerged in slumber - but the timing _ felt _right.

Pale eyes flickered towards the doors leading into the hall, then towards the Painting, trying to discern which direction to take while he had the energy. If he emerged before it was time, then someone would be waiting there to usher him back to bed, and his frenzied flight would have been for nothing. Very likely someone would also attempt this if the Masquerade_ had _begun, but he was prepared to muscle his way into his own damn party regardless.

If it_ was _ the Masquerade, then there was a chance they’d gone into his room and down below while he was still asleep. What if they’d started without him, somehow? It already rankled him that the Masquerade had to go on without him, but _ this _, he could have sworn he was an integral part of this.

Wasn’t he?

Golden fingertips sunk into the wood of his temporary lifeline, pulling himself back to his feet. He’d had an outfit laid out for this momentous occasion - black vest, red sash, thigh high boots, an elegantly sculpted goat mask - but his racing mind wouldn’t let him have more than the breeches and white dress shirt loosely buttoned before he was heading towards the back wall. 

The normally comforting sight of his own majestic visage looming overhead gave him pause, though he wasn’t sure why. His heart was still racing from his ill-advised scramble from the bed, and noticing how Death’s grinning skull was right in front of him only encouraged it to pound that much harder in his chest. Death _ wanted _ him to go down there, he was suddenly very sure of it. Death was waiting for him there. His fingers fumbled against the frame, as if they’d never learned where the secret knob was. 

He didn’t need to check. He could just go outside and see for himself if the Masquerade had started, allow someone _ else _ to come in and usher him through to the slaughter-- 

A sharp yip and a flinch as though he’d been burned as the knob caught, clicked open.

The stairs he’d traversed many times before now looked dark and dangerous, stone steps swallowed in darkness that seemed to stretch for eternity. He couldn’t shake the idea that if he went down there, he’d never come back up. He began to back away from it, eyes transfixed on the abyss. 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Hang the Ritual, hang the Devil, he couldn’t do it. 

His bare feet were already on the steps, carrying him downwards as if possessed. His pace was agonizingly slow, a silent creep, a distant effort to make himself unnoticeable to anything that would kill him waiting at the other end of the staircase. No amount of reminders that he was the one in command of the menagerie of horrors here could assuage the frantic beating in his chest, his heart in his throat and preparing to leave him behind.

Worst case scenario, he realized, was that he was right, and they were waiting for him. All neatly gathered around the table, waiting to start the Ritual to combine the realms and grant him life again. He should be excited. He was fucking terrified. He wasn’t ready. 

Lady or the tiger. Death or freedom.

He could see a glimpse of red up ahead, and despite himself took the last few steps two at a time, nearly stumbling to the floor again for his trouble.

Before him the banquet hall was empty, save one familiar heavyset creature in black dress scuttling about. She seemed to be munching on something, though the long white tables were bare. A few scant Masquerade decorations dotted the room, a job clearly half-done just before he’d stumbled down here.

Lucio let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the panic gripping him faltering and giving way to a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing right here.

“Tomorrow… the Ritual is _ tomorrow _…” He groaned.

Volta glanced up, then seemed to realize he was talking to himself as she went back to whatever it is she was doing without a word. There were hard crunching sounds he didn’t like. Against his better judgment, he strode towards her, pulling himself to his full height and a confident stance despite the way his spine felt like it had traversed to his knees.

The Procurator startled, immediately pulling her hands to her breast and away from him, looking as if she was about to bolt.

“What do you have?” He held his golden hand out to her, expectantly. 

She glanced towards his hand, then his face, then her own hands, then his hand again. After a long moment of deliberation - in which he could clearly see the gears slowly turning in her tiny brain behind her good eye - Volta dropped something into his palm with a rather ashamed look before quickly scampering out of the room.

Pale eyes followed her for a few seconds before dropping down to examine his prize.

A large beetle. Still twitching in his grasp despite missing half its head and limbs. 

With a hiss of disgust he immediately chucked it the way Volta had gone, furiously scrubbing his hand on his pants heedless of the potential stain. 

Why did he need the Courtiers again?? He hated the lot of them, hated how they looked at him when they thought he didn’t notice - like hungry wolves eyeing a wounded elk, waiting for the chance to tear him apart. Sometimes it felt more _ literal _ than simple political ambition, and he hated that it frightened him. Hated how that chance might be coming soon, if his health deteriorated any faster.

Lucio grumbled, glanced towards the way he’d come. The idea of going back up the stone steps to his bedroom was both tempting and on par with eating Volta’s beetle snack doused in glass and arsenic. His legs hurt just thinking about the exertion, especially while he was no longer buoyed by that cocktail of fear and anticipation. 

He made his way towards the long table instead, easing himself into his seat at the head. It wasn’t any closer, but it was also only one direction. He likely wouldn’t be able to move again for a while longer, especially as the shroud of exhaustion was suffocating, weighing him down, securing him to his seat. 

He was also hungry, more an association with the table than the actual feeling itself but no less annoying. Brows furrowed, staring in consternation at the white cloth as if willing the banquet to appear before him. 

The table stubbornly remained bare. 

He cursed at it.

This did not change anything.

With a resigned huff, he rested his arms on the table and let his too heavy head unceremoniously drop on top of them, flesh arm up to prevent any bloodspill before it was time for it. He bled so easily these days, there likely wasn't that much blood left in him at all.

They wouldn't need more than a drop, surely. He didn't have to _ fill _ the chalice.

The vision of Valdemar holding his head back and slitting his throat over an oversized gold cup planted itself in his mind, vividly, to the point that he could almost feel the scalpel blade piercing his skin. The last breaths of his old body wide and gawping like a fish out of water, undignified. He shuddered and buried his face deeper into the crook of his good arm, willing the thought to go away. At least he wasn't hungry anymore.

Did it have to be now? (Could he live until another Masquerade?) Too close, too close-- and did losing his body mean he was going to die? Would he feel it? Would that be his first memory, dying? What if something happened before he got the new body? Was he even going to get a new body? Could he afford to back out? (He couldn't.) Would they double cross him? (They probably would, he would.)

The rising staccato of his thoughts - and for a moment his heart - stilled at the heavy weight of a large hand on his shoulder.

A velvety deep voice poured into the silent room like fine wine, soaking through his aching bones. “Not giving up on me now, are you?”

Lucio forced his head up, just enough to verify what he already knew. An elegant white snout, expression somewhere between amused and a facade of concern, a smile that didn’t reach cold crimson eyes that pierced into his soul. Behind broad white shoulders the red of the room was hazy and unfocused, dreamlike, indicating exhaustion had taken hold - although his body felt exactly the same, weak and painful.

He felt his lips curl back into a reflexive grin, trying not to wonder if the creature heard his thoughts. Just asking if he’s giving up because he looks like a dead man. It’s fine.

“You’re, uh, early.”

The Devil gave a noncommittal little hum, striding over to seat himself at the table. His stature prevented him from occupying the golden chair right next to his companion, instead settling two seats down, long white legs outstretched. Onyx hooves peeked out under the table on the other side - if it was any other Arcana, or any other situation, Lucio might have laughed at the inherent ridiculousness of such a scene.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, almost as suffocating as the creature’s presence. His chest and throat tightened, eyes falling to the dim red glow in the cracks of his golden arm. Fear began to creep in again, this time closer to the thought of expressing dissent to his mother than pure mortal panic. 

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, still pointedly not looking at the larger beast. “I was just thinking…”

“Dangerous.” That voice chuckled, rattling his already frazzled nerves.

“I-I was just thinking, what if-- hypothetically speaking-- I _ don’t _ go through with the Ritual?”

Against his better judgment, he glanced up again, somewhat relieved to find the Devil hadn’t moved but knowing that relief would be short lived once he caught sight of his expression. Like Volta, he could clearly see the gears behind those cold eyes turning - unlike Volta, there were also levers and pulleys and mechanics he would never be able to identify. 

Not one of them approved of him speaking further, and yet his treacherous mouth continued. “Just--just a thought, y’know-- I don’t-- I’m not-- maybe we could, uh, reconvene later, next year’s Masquerade-- surely I’ll be cured by then and much less--”

Black claws closed around his throat, and he felt his heart stutter again.

And then they shifted to cup his cheek instead, oddly gentle, somehow more frightening than the chokehold. He knew better than to struggle, allowing the Devil to bring his face closer to peer at it, as if looking for something. He hardly dared to breathe.

“You and I both know you’ll die before the year is out,” The Arcana rumbled, sharp teeth bared in a grin that more closely resembled a snarl. “But perhaps you need a reminder of what, exactly, you’d be losing.”

All at once the claws against his skin felt like they were made of fire, scorching hot but somehow not painful. The heat bled into his face, slowly traveling down his spine, his limbs, through his guts and his groin, completely engulfing him in it, burrowing inside him and flowing out into his fingertips and back again with every beat of his pounding heart, like the ebb and flow of molten tides.

Beats that were growing stronger, he realized. He sucked in a deep breath, too deep-- he tensed and waited for the resulting coughing fit but it never came. Months of aches and pains that made him feel like a helpless old geezer lifted and flowed away with each molten pull. He no longer tasted blood in the back of his throat. His muscles felt at once overstretched and relaxed, the good kind of pain, like winding down after a long hunt.

He felt good. Damn good.

The moment he began to lean into those claws, the Devil finally released him, and just as soon as it came that feeling bled out of him, leaving him tired and sick and half-collapsed on the table. Warmth and strength faded into vague echoes like chasing a dream.

Without thinking Lucio twisted to grab the large black hand before it had fully withdrawn, desperately trying to pull it and its magic back against his heaving chest.

His face burned at the resulting mocking laughter, but his grip held tight. “... more.”

“I don’t know if you’ve _ earned _more,” The beast purred, though he made no move to recover his hand. “It’s hardly fair to ask for payment before you’ve held up your end of the bargain, you know.”

The Count swallowed thickly, trying to form some kind of compelling argument in his mind.

“... please?”

The Devil laughed again. With shame he realized he liked that sound, even if it was at his expense. Maybe _ because _ it was at his expense. The only creature in existence that could get away with it.

Another burst of heat in his chest under those thick fingertips, this time flooding his guts and groin first, searing down his legs before it leapt up his spine. He shuddered and whimpered, grip tightening on the hand trapped against his chest, instinctively starting to drag it down his stomach even as the warmth retracted, swiftly followed by the hand itself yanking out of his grasp as its owner realized where he meant to put it. Only an inkling of shame flickered through him this time, woozy from blood he couldn't spare settling between his legs, a familiar pressure in his breeches.

“Greedy little thing,” Clear disdain in that deep, velvety voice, doing absolutely nothing to halt the arousal coiling in his frail body. “I only promised you life, not _ recreation _.”

Lucio slowly staggered to his feet, swallowed again, clumsily straddled one of the Devil's big white haunches before his brain had the chance to catch up to what the hell he was doing. His skin felt tight and sensitive, tuned to the slightest movement and shift of fabric and weight, the lightest pressure of his master's knee between his thighs _ hurt _. In these twilight months he hadn't gotten much attention in that department either, and given half a morsel - even unintentionally - he remembered he was starving.

“Like attracts like and all that,” His voice was strained with need, but he managed a cocky grin as his fingers dug into thick white fur. “I can't see a good reason for you to be here this damn early if not for fun.”

The Devil's grin mirrored his own, only more predatory. “Our definitions of ‘fun’ clearly differ.”

“Tsk, lying’s not nice.” He couldn’t even finish saying it without a short honk of laughter.

Rather than buck him off or otherwise try to escape, a large black hand settled lazily at the small of his back, heavy and inescapable despite barely touching him. The other arm was slung over the back of the chair next to him, the beast leaning back in a casual slump, as if too bored to entertain the thought of putting a stop to whatever the hell this was. The haze of desire and fatigue didn't stop the Count from seeing through that guise, having done it plenty of times himself - he was _ very _ interested, at least in seeing how far he would be willing to go. 

Considering he thought he’d be a broken, bloody heap across the room by now, that was a question neither of them had the answer to.

He slid the rest of the way into the Arcana’s lap with practiced confidence and the last ounce of strength given to him moments before, failing to brace himself before his face collided with the soft, warm fur of that broad white chest. His body at once reminded him it was tired, boner be damned, and this was an excellent pillow. Too soft, too warm. There was something like a heartbeat, but different, oddly soothing in its unnatural rhythm. If he could, he’d lie here forever and let it consume him.

With herculean effort he pushed himself back up, hands braced against the Devil’s chest, arms trembling in the effort to keep himself from falling again, breathing hard but shallow breaths to keep from coughing, vision swimming again. Come on, focus. He had to be prepared to do this as he was, as he doubted there would be another flood of strength - too easy, too helpful, the bastard liked watching him flounder.

The thought of _ why _he was doing this never registered in his addled mind - an intriguing impulse had presented itself and he was compelled to follow it, the same as most of his life both in and out of the Count’s throne. He wasn't exactly thinking with the head between his shoulders anymore.

“‘Ve got a proposition for you,” He softly slurred, shifting to capture the long white snout in one shaking hand and nearly dropping against his chest again for his trouble. “Indulge me tonight, n’ I won’t try any funny business tomorrow. You do what I want, I do what you want -- ’s how this works, right?”

“I shouldn’t have to _ bribe _ you with another deal just to get you to hold up the first.” The Devil growled, the light of amusement in his eyes dimming for a moment. He was immediately thankful he’d chosen to rest his alchemical hand near those sharp teeth. 

Despite that thought, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the goatlike snout in his grip. “You have to admit, this one’s easier ‘n more fun to do.”

“_ Disgusting. _” 

An anticipated response - but the animal jaws lunging to capture his mouth in something he realized was its own version of a kiss was definitely not. He could taste the too-familiar tang of blood as sharp teeth dug into his skin, scorching breath filling his mouth and lungs, suffocating him. And yet he could feel his body strengthening again, from the inside out, so he leaned into the pain to drink it in, inhaling deep breaths he couldn’t take until his chest burned.

The Devil inhaled, and most of the strength followed, forcibly pulling itself out of his mouth like a creature in its own right. All he could manage was a helpless, breathless whimper, digging his fingers into the fabric around the beast’s throat to keep from collapsing under his own weight. It was so much more_ unfair _this way, so much more personal.

Out, in. Life, death. A dizzying tug of war that he knew he’d lose, feeling more and more of what little strength he had left being pulled away alongside the extra, threatening to empty his body before it was time. He barely felt the pain of black claws sinking into his arching back, his own hips rolling desperately against the Devil’s waist in time with the ebb and flow of life. There was only that feeling of being filled and emptied and filled again-- it felt so fucking good, even when his vision darkened and his heart stuttered.

Distantly he had the thought that his soul was being fucked. He laughed into his captor’s jaws, couldn’t _ stop _laughing even as fangs released him and he clumsily bobbed his head forward to chase the red vapor drawing back into the monster’s mouth. A thick black tongue snaked out in its stead and lathed against the imprints in his cheek and lips, lapping up the blood and thankfully stopping his delirious laughter.

As the Devil leaned back he could see it rolling carefully behind half opened jaws, tasting him more thoroughly. For what, he had no idea. Maybe just for the taste itself.

“D’we have a deal?” Lucio heard himself saying, miles away. He brushed his flesh hand’s fingertips along the white fur leading down the beast’s stomach, following it down between his haunches and briefly frowning in consternation as he felt nothing but a flat mound of fuzz there. 

Magical creatures didn’t need dicks, of course. But _ damn _ if he didn’t want to know what that would look like. Feel like. Taste like.

_ Now _ he could feel the claws, raking up his back and letting spots of more blood he couldn’t spare blossom beneath his shirt, rolling down his sides. He’d been left enough strength that this didn’t completely disable him, but somehow he didn’t expect it to hurt that much, and a whine escaped his throat unbidden. The claws traveled around to twist beneath his chest, drawing down his stomach, a trail of red following -- and then the broad hand was against his own crotch, and he fell dead still as he waited to see if it was pain or pleasure waiting for him there, trembling with the effort and a healthy dose of fear the longer it remained undecided. 

Please don’t rip his dick off. He still didn’t know if he was getting a new one. 

He instinctively flinched at the sudden burst of heat just above his cock, parsing it as pain until he realized there wasn’t any blood accompanying it. He forced his hips to stay still just in case that changed, breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t until the heat spread across his groin and coiled around his thighs in a decidedly deliberate manner that he allowed himself to breathe - only magic, not blood. The magic spread outwards, surrounding him, and he could feel the fabric of his clothes ripping and burning away from his skin, piece by piece, until he was completely exposed.

“Fun trick, do you do parties?” Lucio chuckled, giving a shaky little grin. “Maybe you could teach me later.”

Black claws were around his throat again, slamming him on his back on the table, hard enough to rattle the candlesticks and knock the air from his lungs. “The only lesson I would consider teaching you is how to _ hold your damn tongue _, and you would never learn even if I ripped it from your throat.”

The Devil’s grip tightened on the last word, not giving him a chance for rebuttal, as if the impact hadn’t already knocked any out of his head. He shakily inhaled, pulling in the barest hint of air he was allowed, once again making no move to struggle, watching his captor rise to his hooves and glower down at his helpless, naked body like a hungry wolf in his own right - hungry and hating it, hating him for it. His snout was twisted into another snarl, spots of his own blood still dotting those sharp white teeth, irises constricted into crimson pinpricks in a sea of black.

Movement near his legs drew his gaze downwards, around the white arm dominating his vision. Where there had been a mound of fluff before there was now a long, black, animalistic dick emerging -- manifested there by magic he presumed, although it looked very much attached and very much proportional to the large black hand wrapped around his neck. Perhaps _ more _ than proportional. He wasn’t entirely sure it was going to fit, or if its owner particularly cared about the difference.

A golden chalice manifested in the other black hand, giving him pause - surely he wasn’t going to _ bleed _ him like this? 

But no, it was upended over his hips and cock, drawing a hiss through his teeth as hot viscous fluid soaked into his skin, fluid that was worryingly deep crimson, hopefully only in comparison to his pale frame. He caught a glimpse of some kind of mark on the inside of his own thigh before his vision filled with white and teeth once more, another savage, primal kiss, flooding him with heat and life as slick fingers pressed inside of him, stretching him. Immediately his hips jerked into the invasion, a choked whimper escaping his crushed throat, devoured by the beast’s jaws against his lips.

The hand around his neck finally released him in order to grab for his thighs, pushing them wide apart to allow the beast’s own impressive hips between them. More scorching air seeped into his lungs and back out again, the motion of the probing finger following the rhythm of their breaths, its own magic winding up his guts and spine, skewering him with it. God, and to think, if that majestic fucking cock did the same--!

Lucio helplessly mewled into his master’s jaws, grabbing for curved onyx horns like a drowning man as his body violently juddered, a wave of climax crashing through his sickly frame before he was ready for it. Pinpricks of frustrated tears stung at the corners of his eyes, waiting for the beast to rudely drop him now that he’d apparently been sated-- and yet nothing changed, only that the heat was now overwhelming for his sensitive body, almost painful, and his grip was that much looser on his own soul and strength as it was drawn into that hungry maw.

He shuddered as the fingers slid out of him, replaced by the head of that large cock. Fingers dug tightly into the horns, bracing himself for it, trying to force himself to relax and keening in something between pleasure and agony as it pushed inside him regardless, filling him at the same time he was gorged on life, hardly softening the blow. It didn’t NEED its own magic winding through him, the heat and girth of it inside him alone was too much. He felt his back arching up, pressing his own cock against the Devil’s stomach, a sharp flare of pain in his hips as they were pushed past their zenith.

Both broad hands closed around his hips, pulling him higher up until only his shoulders touched the table, his arms coming back down to brace himself against it as the beast began to thrust. Rough and deep, jarring loose the tears threatening to spill, likely staining the tablecloth beneath him with their reddish tint. The thick black tongue shoved its way down his throat, fangs tightening their greedy, oppressive grip on his skin, the rhythm of life and death quickening with the Devil’s breath becoming as labored as his own. Agony and ecstasy in equal measures flooding him, consuming him, his thighs tightly clenching around the wide hips forcing them apart in order to hold on for dear life in the only way he was allowed. 

The roar of his pulse was deafening in his ears, blotting out whatever helpless, pathetic sounds he might have been making as he was filled and emptied and filled again, hollowed out and stretched to the breaking point, nothing but a ragdoll in the Devil’s grip. Heat and wetness seeped down his back from his hips where the black claws were tearing into his skin, deep and ruthless, and yet he couldn’t feel anything but the magical heat skewering him from both ends, relentless, eternal, addictive. It hurt so much, too much, yet he didn’t want it to stop, though somewhere he understood that if it didn’t, he wouldn’t live to tomorrow.

Climax crashed over him again, leaping on him like a predatory creature itself, tearing apart the fraying remains of his consciousness. He held on just long enough to experience another searing filling, distantly feeling himself drop to the table like a heavy corpse.

The last he saw before darkness overtook him was the Devil greedily lapping up the blood pooling across his skin, facade of nobility abandoned in favor of pure, primal hunger.

***

“--breathing?” 

Lucio slowly stirred, eyelids fluttering open.

Volta was back, too close for comfort, peering down at him with a mix of concern and a flash of that same hunger. Notably avoiding looking past his face. “Oh, I thought you were dead.”

“Don't sound so disappointed.” He huffed.

With a hiss the Count pushed himself up into a sitting position, slowly coming to the realization that he was still sitting _ on _ the table rather than at it. A little voice at the back of his mind was telling him something else was off, but he ignored in lieu of feeling at his face for the imprints of teeth, then downwards for the imprint of claws, automatically reaching to tuck a hand beneath his shirt.

His hand found nothing but bare skin, sensitive and aching. 

The injuries were gone, but so were his clothes. 

“Ah, I wasn’t going to say nothing about that,” The Procurator muttered, guiltily looking away. “Figured you wanted a breeze.”

Something in that guilt struck him as a bit deeper than merely seeing him lying naked on the banquet table like a sensual _ hors d'oeuvres _. How long had she been here? What had she seen?

What _ had _ that looked like? Not just magic burning his clothing but the rest of it - would she have seen his body simply twitching around on the table? Him hanging up in the air, legs akimbo, like being hoisted by a perverted poltergeist? Or would she have seen the full macabre scene of him being fucked raw by their common master, all pretenses of impersonal distance shattered by base need? 

The fact that the idea sent a shiver of thrill through him was probably concerning.

Lucio sucked in a breath, forgetting the re-enacted limitations of his lungs and coughing, immediately holding up a hand to keep her from speaking before he’d recovered. “Procurator Volta. You didn’t see anything. None of this--” Waving his hand over himself, ignoring the pinkening of his pale skin. He refused to be ashamed. “Ever happened. I wasn’t here, you weren’t here. Got it?”

A slow, owlish blink, but she nodded.

“Also, for future reference, though I don’t give a rat’s ass _ what _ you do in your spare time--” He calmly lifted a nearby candlestick, turning it in his golden hand for a moment or two, before promptly launching it at her. “-- _ stop eating fucking beetles in my fucking banquet hall! _”

It clattered harmlessly against the wall behind her, but Volta yipped and scuttered away again regardless, leaving him alone in the room once more. Distantly he wondered if he should have forced her to carry him back upstairs, then thought better of it - who knows where her grubby little hands have been?

His lips pursed in a pout, realizing that once again his body was very much secured to where he was sitting, perhaps more now that he’d, uh, exerted himself. Arcs of pain lanced through him with every slight movement, even _ breathing _, let alone trying to get up and off the table. It would be like dragging a ton of stones in a silk pillowcase.

But he couldn’t stay here, could he? They would hardly place the banquet around his naked ass, no matter how often they’d seen it. 

At least it was a straightforward trajectory. Table. Floor. Stone steps. Bath? Bed. Masquerade, new body. Maybe a chance to become more_ thoroughly _entangled with the Devil Arcana. Damn it, focus. Table, floor, stone steps, bed. Focus on that at least.

He leaned forward to start, bracing his hands on his thighs, and nearly collapsed again as a shudder of heat and pleasure shot through him unbidden. He hadn’t even touched his damn cock, not that it was in any state to feel anything good. A swift glance downwards to find the culprit, only finding bare skin -- and the edge of that strange mark he’d seen earlier, buried under his metal hand.

Lifting his hand revealed the shape, round and distinctly arcane, like the back of Asra’s tarot cards. Experimentally he pressed his fingers against it, doubling over at the jolt of pleasure, the echoes of sharp teeth against his skin.

Well. _ That’s _ something he’d have to look into carrying over to the next body.


End file.
